Empty Apartment
by Spooky-Girl
Summary: Just a little piece from Ellie's POV, after she returns from Wasaga Beach. Fisrt Degrassi fic, and it came out of nowhere, so don't hate me if it bites. :D Edit : I decided to take this someplace...
1. Empty Apartment

When I was living at home, I used to imagine how great it would be to live on my own. Now, I can't help wishing I was back home, anywhere but here. When I first move in, it was the greatest thing ever. It felt new, and cool, and free. I was independent...only I wasn't. I depended on Sean to be there, and to I can't stand this place anymore. It's so empty, filled with little reminders of things I really just want to forget.

Like the night we fell asleep on the couch watching some stupid movie instead of doing our homework. Or when I was doing the dishes, and he came up behind me and just held onto me. Even the stupid milk in the stupid fridge reminds me of him. He used to have a bowl of Lucky Charms every night.

Stupid boys.

I never realized before...I pride myself on being an outcast. Being a loner is my forte. I always wanted people to leave me alone, but now that I am, I want nothing more than to be surrounded by people.

Some more than others.

"Arrgh!" I shout, sounding more like a pirate than a frustrated teenager. "I hate this!"

I shoot off the couch like a rocket, so determined to do something...but there was nothing to do. My homework is done and set neatly on the kitchen table, which, by the way, is polished and spotless. The rugs are vacuumed, the kitchen is mopped...okay, so maybe I went into a cleaning frenzy, but I had to do something when I returned home Sean-less.

Sean-less.

Ugh.

Making a mental list as I head into the kitchen an pulled open the fridge, I decided number one, top priority, is : FORGET SEAN!

After all, he decided to stay at Wasaga Beach, right? Obviously he doesn't need me. Doesn't want me.

Okay, okay, I know... I sound childish. He experienced a major trauma, and he needs time to cope, and this is what he thinks is best, and he has to do what's right for him, but... the fact that he decided what he needs most isn't me, selfish as it sounds, it hurt.

A lot.

Okay, I'll admit...when I came home... I cut.

I know, I know! It's stupid, it's dangerous, it's self destructive, blah, blah, woof, woof. I was doing so well, and I threw it all away on something so stupid as rejection. That wasn't really rejection, was it? Either way, I was more upset by that than Sean's decision.

I threw away my razors.

I'd like to say I left them in the trash, but of course, I rescued them at the last minute. Still, I don't plan to use them any time soon. I know I need a different coping mechanism, so...I'll find one. I'll deal.

I'll wait for Sean to figure out it's really better for him to be here with me.

Or wait to realize he's done the right thing.

Whatever.

For now, I think I'll just clean out the fridge. Leftover Chinese fromtwo weeks ago? No.

As I toss the cartons into the trash, I glance at the phone for a moment, suddenly hit with the desire to call.

But no. I won't be the first to call. I'll let him.

Besides, I'm pretty sure I don't even have the number.

So there.


	2. Rave

You know what? Maybe I'll take this someplace... probably it won't be someplace fun. But hey, I enjoy that :P

-

Sometimes people get involved in bad stuff. Drugs, drinking, stealing. My thing is cutting. None of it makes us bad people. We've all just made bad choices. And what's important isn't what you've done, it's what you do. Whether you chose to recover, to make amends, to stop doing what you were.

Some things are harder to quit than others. Drugs aren't the only addicting habits. I know a lot of people who think cutting is just a cry for attention. That it's some thing teen girls do to be cool, and pretend they have grown up issues But the thing is, this is real. It's not a game. You can _die_ from it. Whatever the cause, the issue is real, and it shouldn't just be over looked.

I'm trying. That's all anyone can ask of me.

Still, it's just not easy to feel good about yourself when you're sitting at home alone, again, wasting yet another Friday night in front of the TV. And there's not even anything good on, and isn't that a kick in the ass?

What's worse...spending the night alone with sitcoms that aren't even funny, or complaining about it, instead of trying to change it?

Yeah, rhetorical question there.

That is why I, Ellie Nash, decided to get off my butt, get dressed up, and go out.

Normally I'm not much of a partier. Crowded rooms make me feel claustrophobia, and the strobe lights in clubs make me nauseous. This was an extenuating circumstance, though, and I decided it had to be done.

I donned my party clothes, a black mini skirt, and a black top with fishnet sleeves. Making sure my black arm warmers concealed what the fishnets showed off, I lined my eyes a bit darker than normal. I added some dark lipstick and some gloss, put my hair up in a simple ponytail, and posed in front of the mirror, feeling silly, but I thought I looked good.

I grabbed my purse, and had a brief moment of indecision.

Should I really do this? I had little spending money as it was, and rent would be due at the end of the month. What was going to happen now that Sean was gone? Could I pay rent, get student welfare like him? Would his still show up? Did anyone official even know he was gone?

Feeling overwhelmed by the sudden wave of questions hitting me, I announced to the empty apartment, "Fuck it.", and immediately felt older, more in charge, with the profanity my mom discouraged me from using.

I selected a small amount of cash from my wallet, enough for a cab and to get in the club, and maybe get a drink, and left the rest inside, tucked away in my underwear drawer.

Tucking the money into the zippered pocket of my skirt, I headed out the door.

Look out, world, here comes Ellie Nash.

-

The rave was held in an old building just outside town. I asked the driver to drop me off a few blocks away, and trekked the last of the distance, thankful my knee high boots didn't have insane heels on them.

Inside the old building, with the lights dimmed, kids were dancing, wildly twirling glow sticks and meshing their bodies into one massive throng of people. Amidst the crowd, I could see familiar faces, which comforted me.

I had heard of the rave in passing, from some girl talking with Manny Santos.

"I'm not sure," Manny said warily, but I saw that she had overcome any fears, because she was tearing it up on the dance floor.

I felt suddenly stupid, standing there all alone, no one to dance with, no one to talk to.

I saw a bunch of coolers at the end of the building, with water and soda, and no one asking for money, so I headed over there, making my way past the few people standing on the edge of the dancers.

Selecting a Diet Coke from the nearest open chest of ice, I popped the top and took a drink, eager to look like I was doing anything but just _standing._

The next thing I knew, a body was bumping into mine, and soda was down my chest. Great.

"What the ?" I cried indignantly, turning around.

"Sorry - sorry," the kid said, turning around, putting out his hands, and blinking. "Ellie?"

"Craig?" I said, frowning, but almost glad to see him.

"Hey!" he said brightly, for some reason looking happy to see me. "How's it!"

"How's what?" I asked, rolling my eyes, and feeling bad for it.

"Aww, what's wrong?" he asked, wrapping his arm around me and laughing. "Not enjoying the party?"

"Craig, are you drunk?" I asked him, pushing him off and getting a bit angry.

"Nooo," he said, leaning in to whisper. "I'm much better."

His laugh in my ear put a breath of hot air on my cheek, and I stepped back a bit, clutching my drink. "Are you okay?"

For a moment his face fell, then he grinned again. "Yeah! This is great! What are you doing here? You're usually not..."

"Social?" I finished for him.

Looking apologetic, he shrugged. "Well, yeah."

"Needed to get out, y'know?" I said, shrugging, too.

"I so get that," he said, sounding less out there now. "I heard about what happened with Sean."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Emma told me," he said, "when she was babysitting Ange the other night? She said he stayed back there, she wasn't talking about you, okay?"

I nodded, relaxed. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Are you, like, even enjoying this?" he asked, waving his hand at the dance floor.

"I just got here," I told him. "So...no."

He laughed again. "Me either. It's lame. I was dancing with Ash, and she got all pissed, because I think I tried to kiss her or something, and we're "just friends"."

"You think?" I asked with a smirk.

"Uh...okay, yeah, I did, but I didn't mean anything by it!" he said, putting his hands out helplessly.

"Riiiight," I laughed.

"So, you wanna go outside and get some air?" he said, pulling at the collar of his shirt. "I'm suffocating."

I narrowed my eyes again, searching his flushed face.

"No hooking up," he said, obviously reading my expression. "I'm seriously hot, I just need to get out before I pass out, and you're bored, and I could use some comapny, and - ."

"I'll go," I said, interrupting his ramble.

"Cool!" he said, and started to the door.

I followed, holding my half empty can of soda, and feeling a little less like a loser.

Outside, it was chilly, but it felt good to my hot skin, so I sat next to Craig on the curb, just beside a black pickup truck, crossing my legs and staring at my boots.

"So, Ash is here?" I asked.

"Yeah," he nodded a reply. "I know it doesn't seem like her scene, right?"

"Not really," I said. "But it's not really mine either."

"True," he said, thoughtfully. "I pretty much begged her to come. She was enjoying herself, too, I could tell. Until I tried to kiss her, that is."

"Why did you even?" I asked, bending the tab on the top of the can back and forth until it popped off in my hand.

He shrugged. "I dunno. Wanted to."

"That's always a good plan," I said sarcastically, tossing the tab at the tire of the pick up.

"So I thought," he said mournfully. "Oh well, though, right? Whatever."

The smile was back in an instant. "Doofus."

He grinned even wider. "Thanks!"

I shook my head, but was unable to keep a smile off my face at his goofy attitude. "Craig, you're stoned, aren't you?"

"Maybe just a little," he said, holding up his thumb and forefinger with a small margin in between.

What do you say to that? Bad Craig, no cookie? Sure, I was a little surprised; I'd never known anyone outside of Jay's crew who did drugs, even just once in a while, let alone someone like Craig.

I settled for the lamest reply I could muster, "Oh...okay."

He smiled at me again, then suddenly his face fell, and he looked forward, slumping over and resting his chin on his knees. "You know...I saw Jimmy."

"In the hospital?" I asked, curious. "How was he?"

"No, not the hospital," Craig said, picking at the fraying knee of his jeans. "At school."

I furrowed my brow. I knew little of what had happened to Jimmy. I heard of Emma, Toby, and Sean's experience in detail, but not Jimmy. All I knew was he had been shot, and was in the hospital.

"When...Rick shot him," Craig said, his eyes fixed on the asphalt. "I turned a corner, just trying to get outside, no big deal, and there he was...on the ground, on his stomach, blood all around him."

I blanched.

"How can one person bleed that much?" he said, finally turning to me, eyes pleading. "There was so much blood, all from him, and I wanted to do something. Rick was right there, staring at Jimmy's...at his body. And he had the gun, and he just...walked away. It was so unbelievably fucked."

I sat there, still unsure of what to do. I couldn't offer any condolences, because none would do. I couldn't say I knew how he felt, because I didn't.

"That must have sucked," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He laughed drily. "Yeah. You can say that again."

Naturally, I didn't. Instead, I found myself offering, "Listen...if you ever need someplace to crash...someone to talk to?"

He stared at me like he didn't understand what I was offering.

I couldn't blame him. I didn't know why I was, not really.

"It gets lonely in that stupid place," I shrugged. "I get lonely."

Craig nodded slowly, then stood. "I better get back in there. Apologize or whatever."

I shrugged again, staring at my boots. "Sure. Later."

"Later," he said, and was gone, leaving me sitting on the curb alone.

With a sigh, I stood, too, and headed home. The night was pretty much ruined from the start.


	3. Growing Older

Don't own it, yo. Next installment... this is just fun to write sometimes. So let me know what you think, okay?

Depression is funny.

Hah...what an oxymoron. Good going, real clever, whatever.

I don't mean it's laugh out loud funny. It's just odd. I know it's classified as a constant, persistent feeling of extreme sadness, helplessness, guilt, blah, blah, blah. But really, one day you can wish you were dead, and the next day you can feel almost normal. It's like, the sadness is always there, but sometimes it goes away to hide under your skin, and you're never sure when it's going to come back, just that it will.

And after awhile, you sort of become used to it. Even...miss it. Because it becomes normalcy. It becomes what you know. And at least you know how to deal with that. I can't deal with feeling normal these days, can't deal with wondering, waiting for that same feeling to creep back in.

Sometimes I think I'd do anything to stop it.

Almost anything, I thought, staring at the beer leftover from Sean's last party. Bottom shelf, left hand side, just sitting there, taking up space, waiting for someone to come claim it.

Not me.

I'll never be like my mom.

I should take those damn cans and pour them out. Fill the space with juice, or something.

Only, I don't think I can afford that.

I think that's when it hit me. I needed a job. And bad.

Rent was due soon, and aside from the beer, there wasn't much in the fridge. Or the cupboards for that matter.

With a sigh, I shut the refrigerator door. I'd have to wait for lunch to eat.

That thought only sent me scurrying off to find the money left from the weekend, abandoned in some pants pocket or the bottom of my purse. I made a decision, digging through my bag and coming up with five dollars, that after school, I was getting a job.

I'd scour the paper for as long as it took, to find anything.

...if I could find a paper. Did we even get one?

"I hate Mondays," I announced to the empty living room, grabbing my school bag and heaving a sigh.

I spent most of my lunch period sitting alone in the library, circling ads I thought I could do. Waitress, ugh, dishwasher, double ugh, counter help, cashier, things like that. Not the best jobs in the world, jobs I would most likely hate more than math homework, but jobs that I could do. Jobs that would hopefully pay the rent.

By the time school let out, I was psyched up enough to believe I stood a chance of getting some job...any job. No matter how menial.

Then I realized, I had no way to get to any of the places offering employment, to even fill out an application.

What a wonderful end to things, eh?

With a sigh, I sat down on the steps outside of school, resting my elbows on my knees and propping my head up, probably looking pathetic.

"Just my luck," I grumbled.

"What is?" said a voice from behind me.

I looked back to see Craig towering over me, messenger bag over one shoulder, hair in disarray.

"Oh," I said, shrugging, "Just, I'm looking for a job...only I've got no way to get anywhere to get one."

Then it hit me.

"Wait... you're sixteen... Joey owns a dealership...you have to have a car," I said, pleading with him. "Do you have a car?"

"Well..." he looked uncertain, scuffing the toe of his sneaker on the ground.

"Please?" I gave him my best puppy eyes. "Pretty please?"

I know, begging is seriously lame. Also, sometimes, necessary.

Five minutes later I stood in the parking lot, Craig standing next to me, keys dangling from his fingers.

"It's not much," he apologized. "But it's got a motor, and four wheels, and it plays music."

I shrugged. "A car's a car."

"Okay," he said, "hop in, but you owe me."

I stopped in my tracks, eyeing him warily. "What?"

He paused too, stroking his chin to emphasize thought. "Company for dinner?"

I stared at him for a moment longer. "Acceptable."

"Get in," he said, grinning as he slid behind the wheel of the battered old pickup truck.

I went around to the other side, and stepped up. To my surprise, the inside was clean, the bench seat giving a lived in, but not run down look, it's faded fabric soft beneath me. The CD player had clearly been installed recently, it clashed against the faded grey of the dashboard.

"Not bad," I shrugged.

He smiled like it was a compliment, and flipped down my visor. "Lady's choice."

I glanced at the CD organizer strapped there, and started pulling CD"s out to see what kind of music Craig had, as he pulled out of the lot.

"Ouh!" I almost squealed, "I'm so in an Our Lady Peace mood."

"You know, music makes you act like a...girl," Craig said, glancing over at me.

"Um, thanks." I glared at him.

"I meant to say 'nice choice'," he amended.

"Good," I replied, putting the CD in.

We were halfway toward the mall when I realized I was getting along with my best friend's ex boyfriend, the school player, singing "All For You", and actually enjoying myself.

Whatever.

Craig parked at the main entrance, put the truck in park, and turned to me. "You have a cell phone?"

"Yeah."

One I owe money on. One in danger of being shut off.

"Call me when you're done, I'll be around the mall, okay?" he told me.

"I don't have your number," I said, climbing out and locking my door behind me.

I met him on the other side.

"Program it in now," he said, shrugging.

I complied, pulling my phone out of my purse, and punching in the numbers as he slowly spoke them to me. "Craig...cell...got it."

We walked to the front entrance of the mall, plethora of shops and fast food joints. As he held open the door, I graced him with a rare, genuine smile.

"Thanks," I told him, and raced off without waiting for a reply.

I was a girl on a mission.

"Okay, listen, Ellie is it? Ellie...I've got about a dozen girls applying for this job, guys too, and they all want it just as bad...why should I pick you over them?"

The girl in front of me was in her late twenties, blonde and thin, her nails done perfectly as they danced across the application, picked up a pen and wrote something down here or there. Her eyes were clear blue, and screamed 'don't bullshit me'. I could tell she'd had a long day.

I sighed. "Okay, listen, I'll drop the good girl act, you can probably tell from my clothes and makeup, I'm not the kind of girl a lot of people want working for them. I've been almost everywhere in this mall and gotten the same stare from everyone. 'Your kind need not apply', that sort of thing. But the fact is, I need this job, and I want this job. Under the makeup, I'm a lot like those girls, probably more qualified, too. I read more often than I sleep. I'm a hard worker, I don't give up, and I'm not here to read magazines while people shop. I'll give you one hundred percent, everyday."

I paused, taking a deep breath. I was almost shaking. I'd been at it for almost three hours, I was tired and frustrated.

Amanda, the manager with perfect hair and nails, smiled, showing her perfect teeth.

"Perfect."

"Huh?" I said. "I mean, excuse me?"

"You're hired!" she said, standing up.

Bewildered, I stood up, too. "I...am?"

"You're refreshing," she said. "You didn't give me the same rehearsed answer the last three did. Ew."

I felt the beginnings of a smile taking place on my face.

"Can you start Thursday?" she asked, holding out her hand.

I grabbed it, shaking it firmly. "I so can. Thank you."

"Of course," she said, "you'll have to wear blue jeans and the store T-shirt, it's company policy."

"That's fine," I said, nodding. "Thank you!"

"No problem," she told me, smiling. "Just be here at four on Thursday, we'll get you all set up then, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, then opened my mouth to say something else.

"You're welcome," Amanda smiled, beating me to the point.

I grinned again.

Mission accomplished!

Safely out of the small store, I dialed Craig.

"Yo," he answered.

"I got a job!" I squealed, aware that I was, again, sounding like a girl.

"That's great!" he said, sounding genuinely happy for me. "Where?"

"The little bookstore by the coffee shop?" I said, not sure if he knew of it.

"Oh, Book Nook?" he asked, and I could hear plastic rustling. "Thanks, man."

"Yeah," I said. "Where are you? I'll meet you."

"Um," he said, and there was more rustling. "I'm jsut leaving a store. I'll meet you at the food court?"

"Okay," I said, "Bye."

"Later."

I hung up and walked to the food court, feeling better than I had in a while. I spotted Craig sitting at a table, a plastic bag on the table before him, and slid into the seat across from him.

"Whatcha got?" I asked, trying to peek into the bag.

He laughed, and smacked my hand away. "You're happy."

"Yeah, well, I can afford to live in my apartment now, maybe," I said, thinking. "Or, I will be soon."

He looked back at me for a moment. "That's good, El."

"So, what did you get?" I asked, looking at the bag.

"I got Angie a stuffed bear, okay?" he said begrudgingly. "She's at her grandma's right now, and I kinda wanted her to have something cool to come back to."

I furrowed my brow. "That's sweet."

"Yeah...don't look so surprised," he said drily, "I'm not always an ass."

"I know," I said, shrugging, and leaning back in my chair. "After all, you drove me here."

He looked at me for a moment.

"Do you like Chinese?"


	4. Breaking Rules

Again, I don't own it. It's just something to amuse me when it hits me. Leave me lotsa reviews, because I'm a whore like that. :D

* * *

"Music."

"Definitely. Um... movies. Like, the really good ones. The ones that make you think."

"Oh, and then like, revolutionize the way movies are made? So everyone starts copying them, and then they get so played out it's just trash?"

"Exactly! Case and point, Matrix, fighting style. Everyone tries to do that slow mo wire-fu shit, even if it's like, a movie about...okay, like, soccer."

I laughed, whacking Craig on the arm with my napkin, then said around a mouthful of pizza, "Snow."

"Umm...spaghetti."

I paused, staring at him for a moment. "Spaghetti..."

"Yeah."

We were in the living room, playing this game we had adopted...it didn't have a name, but we spent hours sitting around just naming little insignificant things made life enjoyable.

"Okay, your choice of what makes life worth living is spaghetti?" I asked, eyebrows raised.

"Especially cold spaghetti the morning after it's made, " he nodded.

"Okay, just clarifying," I said with a shrug.

It came about one night after work, when we were driving home from the mall, and I was thanking Craig profusely for being my ride to and from.

"No big," he said, "I love driving. It's one of those things, you know?"

"Define 'one of those things'," I said.

"You know. It's like...thereputic. It's one of those things that makes you just appreciate and love life. One of those things were you're totally pissed, raging, and it calms you down, it makes you serene."

I had peered out the window, watching the scenery pass.

"Like thunderstorms."

"Yeah!" he had agreed, nodding his head. "I love storms."

From there on, it was sort of a ritual between us. Whenever we were bored or couldn't think of anything to do, we'd quietly fall into naming things we called precious.

Sometimes it was profound, talking about God or nirvana. Sometimes it was christmas lights. But spaghetti?

I don't get guys.

Sitting on the coffee table in front of us was a half-devoured pizza, and a two liter of Sprite. I hated Sprite, but it was Craig's favorite.

Another of our rituals.

It had been two weeks since I got my job, and with the rent payed, I could afford to splurge every now and then on, get this, food. Craig had started spending more time at my apartment, and we alternated paying for take out, or fast food. Sometimes, when we were feeling particularly productive, we'd even make a foray into cooking real food. Most times we just had to fork over cash and compromise on soda and toppings.

Tonight it was pepperoni and Sprite.

It was always about compromise... except in one case.

Our unspoken rule, in effect at all times, was never ask about _them._ Ashley and Sean. We never even talked about them.

Tonight, Craig not only bent the rule, he snapped it right in two.

"Ash and I broke up," he said, about ten minutes after his spaghetti fondness admittance.

I shot him a look, curious, but as always my goody-two-shoes-rule-following-self.

"I guess it was a mutual decision," he said. "You know, brought to mind by her."

"I thought you two were doing good," I asked, setting my half eaten slice of pizza on the table and taking a swig of Sprite. "Ew."

He smiled a little despite the topic of conversation, shrugged. "I thought so, too. I guess... I dunno, it was a trial thing. Temporary, to see if we could work it out. Mostly we could. I just don't think things were the same between us. I don't think they ever could be. I mean, hey, I fucked up, I realize that, and she's forgiven me and all, but... when you do that, cheat? It just sorta...well, like I said, I fucked it up."

I nodded. "Are you okay with it?"

"You mean am I gonna kill myself over it?" he asked, smirking. "No. I'm not thrilled, but I pretty much saw it coming. She never let me kiss her, never really wanted to hold hands or anything. You can tell when things are different, and why."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Anyway," he said, shrugging, "I just thought I'd say it. So you didn't hear it around school and get offended. Rules are meant to be broken, right?"

"Right, I guess," I shrugged, playing indifference.

I didn't mind that he'd broken the rule. It was the sort of thing you had to tell your friends. It just left this space open, like "okay, now it's your turn". Like it was expected of me to talk about Sean now. And the one thing I liked about keeping company with him, was that he never gave me that look anyone else gave me. The pity look. Poor girl's disturbed boyfriend up and left her. None of those 'what happened' questions.

Dammit.

Why do boys always ruin things?

"At least she talks to you," I smiled sarcastically, picking up my plate and heading to the kitchen.

"Whoa," Craig said, abandoning his plate and following me. "Hey, hey, I didn't even mean it like that."

"I know," I said, offering an apologetic face. "I don't even know why I said that. I try to save the drama queen act for Paige. I'm sorry... I just... felt like I had to say something. Only...there's nothing to say."

He frowned. "He hasn't called?"

Still feeling like I was acting childish, I shrugged, threw away my plate. "He never calls."

"That's rough," he said. "I mean, he should at least call to say hi, ask you how you're doing. Didn't he even care that you might lose the apartment?"

He sounded angry, but he didn't know my home situation, didn't know how big of a deal it was for me to lose it. Sean did. That made it hurt even more.

"Guess not," I shrugged, turning away and swallowing hard to bite back tears.

Heading to the living room, I collected the pizza box and Craig's abandoned plate. "Don't worry about it, anyway. Whatever."

"I guess," he said, sounding unsure. "I still think it's a bastard thing to do."

I half smiled. "Thanks. It is, isn't it?"

Oh, great. Yeah.

Here I am, agreeing that he's a bastard for not checking up on me like my drunk-ass mother _should_, when he's staying with his parents to try to recover from a trauma like that? Right, I'm not selfish, I'm a great person, I'm...such a fucking crybaby. Who am I to think any kind of bad thoughts on him, when he's going through something like _that_?

I _SUCK._

"Um, can you wash those two glasses?" I asked, clearing my throat. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

He rolled his eyes. "I need a full report."

"Shut up," I said, swatting at his arm as I passed.

Inside the bathroom I shut the door and leaned against it briefly, breathing hard, blinking rapidly. I slid the lock in place and headed for the medicine cabinet.

I was trying to be silent, disclose normal bathroom sounds, for fear of him being suspicious. I didn't even know if he knew, but suddenly I was so paranoid. Suddenly I was rifling through the cabinet, past the deodorant, behind the band-aids, there it was, a blade. Old, and not too sharp, probably left over from one of Sean's razors, I'm not really sure how it got there. All that was important at that moment, was that it was.

Looking at the door, as if the lock wasn't enough to keep me safe, I slid up my shirt sleeve, and looked.

The skin was covered in light lines, faint scars, healing. One line was darker, more bold, new, from when he had left. But since then, nothing.

Almost pure.

Fingers somehow steady while the rest of me shook, I placed the tip to my skin.

Part of me screamed not to.

Part of me lost.

Closed my eyes. Pressed down. Drug.

Nothing.

Dull pain, but nothing.

I opened my eyes, looked.

A white scratch mark, nothing else.

Not hard enough, maybe. It was old, dull.

I tried again, eyes open, focusing, the need so great now, that I was clenching my jaw

Nothing.

I drew my arm back a few inches, and lashed out, slashing at my arm, my mind screaming at me_ 'bleed, bleed!'_.

I was scared, but it worked.

A gash opened up on my arm, not too deep, not too long, but enough that my body gave me the release, and I stopped panicking. Relaxed.

Felt...okay.

Breathing heavily, I grabbed toilet paper to hold against the cut. As an afterthought, I wrapped some more around the blade, and buried it deep in the bottom of the trash can.

Paranoia.

Once I was sure the bleeding had stopped, I tossed the paper in the toilet, flushed. Washed my hands.

"Finally," Craig said from the sink as I stepped out. "What is it with girls and spending a million hours in the bathroom?"

I tried to laugh; it was a lame attempt, but it seemed to fool him.

That was all that mattered.


	5. Let Go

I find it amazing how vastly different humankind can be. I don't mean on the outside, hair, skin, eyes, that sort of thing. I mean in personality. Think about it...generally speaking, we are all the same. Ten fingers, ten toes, one heart, a brain... but we're so much more than that, and it makes me wonder how and why?

I mean, take two people, and set them side by side. Both blondes with blue eyes, both the same height, weight, and age. I bet any money those two girls are different as night and day. So, obviously looking the same has nothing to do with how you act.

Like in high school, there are so many different stereotypes. Good girls, bad girls, tough guys and wimps. What makes us so complex? So...different?

Let me guess. God has a special plan for us, right?

To be honest...I'm not sure I even believe in God anymore.

What kind of deity would give me a father off trying to make peace and a mother in rehab? Or a boyfriend who up and left me without even checking up on me?

And what kind of God would make such a selfish bitch as me?

"Ugh," I grunted aloud, giving up on my thoughts.

A girl can only take so much before she starts to get pissed off.

A female customer bent over the magazine rack looked up briefly, and I gave them a friendly smile.

A puzzled look was my reply, as they bent back down, looking at Brittney Spear's latest controversy or something.

Friday night.

8:45 pm.

I wanted out.

Seated behind the cash register with a notebook in front of me, I was waiting out the remaining minutes of my shift. Then I could close up, and go. Craig would be waiting in the parking lot, maybe with a Slurpee or something, and that was something to look forward to.

Sadly.

"Just so you know, ma'am," I spoke up, getting the woman's attention, "we'll be closing in ten minutes."

"Oh," the woman said, starred back down for a moment, then hastily pulled a few magazines out of the rack.

Approaching the counter, she shrugged sheepishly. "I didn't mean to take so long."

"No problem," I smiled, mentally rolling my eyes. "I don't mean to hurry you."

"It's alright," she said, digging through her purse as I rang up her magazines.

Teen People, Seventeen, YM...noticing a pattern?

"They're for my daughter," she explained. "She's at home sick, with the flu? I didn't know what to get her, to keep her entertained, so...I got them all."

"I'm sure they're her favorites," I smiled.

"She's around your age...what do you read?" the woman asked, looking slightly nervous as she pulled out her wallet.

"Uh, this one's my favorite," I picked up a magazine at random.

"Oh! Good," she beamed. "I hope she loves Jay-Z as much as you do!"

I let out a choked laugh. "Uh, me too. That'll be fifteen forty."

Mumbling as she counted out the money, the woman looked at me gratefully. "Thanks for the help!"

"No problem," I said, counting out her change and handing her the bag containing my "favorite" magazine. "Have a nice night."

"Oh, you, too," she replied, her step more lively as she left.

I made a gagging noise to myself at the woman's peppiness, then set about closing up shop.

Outside, a light rain was falling, leaving the air chilled. I shivered and wished I had put a thicker shirt on under my work shirt. Standing at the lighted entrance to the mall, I looked around for Craig's old pickup. Usually he was waiting at the curb, in park, music on low.

Today, nothing.

I checked my watch.

He hadn't been late before.

Maybe he'd forgotten?

Idly, my right hand came up to my left arm and sought out the cut I'd made last night, feeling for the slight bump under the skin, pressing down.

Where was he?

And why was I freaking out about it?

I opened my purse and began searching through it, looking for my cell phone.

Nothing.

Typically, the one night I actually need it, I leave it at home.

"Dammit!" I cursed, then picked up some change, turning around and heading for the pay phone.

My hands were shaking inexplicably as I lifted the receiver.

A honk from the parking lot startled me, and my coins dropped to the ground.

Turning around and abandoning the coins, I saw Craig pulling up, waving a hand from his window.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I jogged toward the truck, bag bouncing at my hip.

"About time," I said as I slid into the seat and shut the door. "I'm freezing!"

"Sorry," he shrugged, pulling away from the curb. "I got held up. You want the heat on?"

I nodded slightly, already forgiving him. He wasn't _that_ late. It wasn't _that_ cold. And besides, who cared? Right?

I reached over to turn up the volume some, the sounds of Fall Out Boy reaching my ears.

Smiling contentedly, I sat back in my seat.

Craig smirked and looked over at me.

We drove in silence for a few minutes.

In between tracks, Craig looked over. "So...there's this party tonight."

I glanced over, saw him watching the road. "Party, eh?"

"Yeah. At this guy's house... I dunno him really well, but he's a friend of a friend. That sorta thing," he said. "It's no big deal, but..."

"Is that your way of ditching me for dinner, or inviting me?" I asked, raising a brow.

He grinned. "Wanna come along?"

I paused for a second.

"What the hell."

"Great," he said, nodding.

"Just...not in this, okay?" I said, glancing down at my blue jeans and sneakers.

He laughed. At me!

The nerve.

Any high schooler knows there are a dozen kinds of parties. Lame parties, drinking parties, drug parties, hell, even sex parties. The only thing us teens don't seem to have, is Tupperware parties. Everything else is fair game.

When Craig mentioned it, I thought it'd be a small party, with beer and sex in the upstairs bedrooms, like the standard high school party.

Now, standing there in the kitchen while Craig got me a drink, I realized that it was some weird mix. Drinking, duh, and some kids were sitting in a semi-circle on the floor, passing a bong. In the living room off to the side, a couple were getting down and dirty on the couch, while some looked on, and still others mingled around it like it was normal.

Part of me wanted to cringe. The other wanted to laugh.

So they teamed up and figured, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Craig handed me a beer, and leaned in close to be heard over the music. "Are you okay?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

He stood back. "Just that, I didn't know if you were used to this...uh...kinda thing."

His eyes were on the couple on the couch, slightly bemused, slightly put off. Obviously, he _was_ used to it.

I shrugged. "Whatever."

How cool am I?

"Come on," he said, "let's go to the basement, there's less noise."

I shrugged, playing indifference again, and followed him down the narrow stairs, into a dark basement. It was quieter, if not musty, where maybe half a dozen kids where sprawled on two couches and easy chairs circling a coffee table covered in chips, ashtrays, bottles, and plastic cups.

"Craig!" a voice shouted, belonging to a blonde guy wearing no shirt.

Craig walked over and greeted the guy with one of those stupid handshakes boys do.

"Hey, man," he said. "Ellie, c'mere."

I walked over, taking a sip from my glass to hide my nervousness.

Okay, so maybe I wasn't exactly used to this.

"Elllie," the guy drug out. "Sup?"

I shrugged. "Hey."

He laughed, and Craig shook his head.

"El, this is Jon, my friend who knows the friend...or whatever," Craig said, nodding to the kid.

I nodded back, my apathetic punk girl facade slipping into place.

"So, it's my birthday," Jon said out of the blue. "Got me a present?"

Craig laughed, and nodded. "Yeah."

"Coool," Jon drug out. "Gimme?"

Craig dug into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag.

I shouldn't have been shocked, after seeing him at the rave that night, I knew he was stoned. I guess I just...forgot?

Yeah, I know, lame excuse.

"So, it's good?" Jon asked, looking up with bleary eyes.

Craig shrugged. "Haven't tried it. Heard it was, but you know..."

"Come try it with us!" Jon said, barreling over to the couch and planting himself next to a girl who looked half dead.

Craig looked at me hesitantly.

Gee, how sweet, thanks for worrying.

I pushed past him, because I'm just that cool, not nervous at all, I do this all the time, and Sat on the other couch, empty save one boy on the end, looking fidgety.

Craig sat next to me after a moment, leaning in to whisper, "You don't mind?"

I rolled my eyes, looked at him. "I'm not Ash."

He sat back as if the comment stung. "Right. That's right."

He smiled to let me know it was okay, and I wanted to slap him, because it wasn't okay.

I watched Jon, for all his apparent clumsiness, rolling a joint tightly, and tried to pretend I did this all the time.

Wonderful that I pick now to start trying to fit in.

I totally suck.

My hand went to my arm, tracing over the material of my wrist warmers.

Craig leaned in again. "You sure you wanna be here?"

I smirked in response, my gaze drawn back to Jon's hands.

Who knew such big fingers could be so delicate?

"Happy birthday to me," he said, holding up the finished product, and producing a lighter from his jeans.

Ever present Craig whispered, "Are you gonna...I mean...y'know?"

I shrugged, playing it cool.

Was I? I couldn't. Would I?

His breath hot on my ear, he continued, "Just inhale and hold it in as long as you can, okay? I mean, if you do."

I looked at him, my glare hard, as if to say 'I've done this before'.

He sat back, quiet, finally.

I watched the fidgety boy take a long pull, watched as he passed it to Craig, who took a deep drag, holding it in, then passing it back to Jon -

who refused it.

"Hey, share with your girlfriend," he said, shaking his head. "Don't be rude, man."

"Maybe she doesn't want it," Craig said after exhaling, and I thought for a moment how sweet it was for him to say that.

Then I saw Jon's red-eyed stare, and, shrugged, reaching out to take the joint from Craig's hands.

"Don't be rude," I smirked.

Jon and Fidgety Boy laughed, hard. Craig just watched me closely as I placed it to my lips.

The only thing going through my mind, was 'look like you do this, look like you do this'.

As I inhaled, my eyes watering at this foreign sensation, I thought how lame it was to want to be accepted, or to fit in, or whatever. Another part of me was disappointed, all the talks my mom and dad gave me running through my mind.

I held it in my lungs until I couldn't breathe, finally exhaling in a cloud of sweet smoke.

"There you go!" Jon said, sounding proud.

And I was proud that he was proud.

Lame.

I kept it up, taking a hit whenever the damn thing was passed my way, my mind getting more and more carried away every time.

I felt stupid, like a poser, like a fuckin' druggie.

But at the same time... I finally felt relaxed, and I thought, this isn't so bad.

I dunno what the big deal is. I barely feel anything.

I'm not laughing over lint or anything like in the movies or whatever.

I was disappointed in myself, but I didn't really care, at the same time, and that struck my as being the coolest thing, ever.

I sat there once the thing was finished, lost with my thoughts, so relaxed I thought I might melt off the couch, not even annoyed when Fidget started laughing at something stupid Jon's girlfriend said.

At least, that's who I thought she was.

Where had she come from?

Oh well, it wasn't like it mattered.

I don't know how much time had gone by when Craig finally stood up and told Jon we were gonna be leaving. Something about him having a good birthday, enjoying his present, but we had things to do.

Was it Chinese or pizza?

Craig waved a hand in front of my face, and I gave him a slow smile.

He laughed a little bit, then grabbed me by the elbow, helping me up.

"Come on, cutie," he said, practically dragging me outside to the car.

Did he call me cutie, or was that my imagination?

"Craiiiig," I whined once we got in the cold.

"What?" he asked, smiling at me as we climbed into the car.

"I'm cold," I said simply, crossing my legs. "Look, I'm almost fucking naked, no wonder."

I toyed with my fishnets, trying to form a hole in the...holes.

Well, that was pointless.

"Okay," he said, starting up the truck and cranking on the heat.

"What do you wanna do now?" I asked, getting onto my knees on the seat and looking through the collection of CD's.

"I'm hungry," he said. "Are you?"

I looked down at my stomach. "Yeah. Let's eat."

Bad Ellie, I thought as we drove away.

But you know what?

I didn't care.

And I liked it.


	6. How To Start a Fire

Some people spend their lives trying to make sense of life. To take the little things, the big things, any and every event, and explain them. Philosophers, scientists, doctors... they all try to break everything down and make sense of it. But in analyzing all the tiny detail of things, don't we take away what makes it special?

Like a sunset. The sun doesn't really set...we just rotate further away from it, until the light is no more. But that's boring. Who doesn't want to imagine that someone made that scene of colors just for them. That it's something beautiful, not something that happens because we're spinning into darkness for a few hours.

Or a thunderstorm. Who cares about clouds rubbing together. Who cares about protons and neutrons and ions doing whatever it is they do to make lightning? Why can't we just sit back and enjoy the sound of rain on rooftops, and the warmth of hiding under covers every time the thunder roars and lightning strikes.

I did, once, I guess.

I remember asking my father, "Daddy, what's thunder?"

"God," he said, smiling down at me. "Bowling."

I giggled, but from then on, that's what I thought. It was God, bowling. And I was never scared of storms.

I like seeing the mysterious side of things. I like leaving analysis to professors, and sitting back to enjoy the beauty and awe of everything I don't understand.

Maybe it's simpler that way, I don't know.

It's more worthwhile, that's for sure.

So, explain this, professors. Ellie Nash, rebellious punk or authority-obeyer?

For all the clothes, all the makeup, all the maladjustive tendencies I adopted, I was never much of a troublemaker. I followed the rules, or at least those I agreed with. I skipped a total of three classes in my time at Degrassi, and I had never been in any real kind of trouble, at home or otherwise.

But suddenly one weekend, I give into peer pressure (when no peers really pressured me), and suddenly did something no one ever thought I would. It didn't make me a druggie, not by a long shot, but it was unexpected, and there was no logical reason for me to do it.

But I did.

And it wasn't like I planned on it being a regular event.

Not at all.

I mean, I never even thought of that. It just happened, and there was no, 'oh, okay, maybe I'll do this again'. No, 'I'm never doing this again!' It just was, and I was content to enjoy that feeling without question.

It went without mention all through the week. Not a single word spoken of the party, or the greasy diner after. Not a peep of getting home at four am and passing out on the one end of the couch while Craig snored away on the other. No frantic chirping on Craig's cell phone, no Joey wondering where he was.

Things went back to normal, and I began to doubt whether it ever actually happened.

Until Craig showed up at the store, holding a Guitar World magazine and pressing a five into my palm with a grin, and a casual, "What're you doing tonight?"

"I dunno," I said, shrugging and bagging his purchase. "Why?"

"I dunno," he shrugged, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I just thought you might wanna...go, y'know...dammit. This is awkward."

I blinked, then realized why it was so awkward for him to ask. How do you come out and say, "Wanna get high?", when you don't even know the persons stance on things?

"You obviously don't know the secret art of code-talking," I said, smugly, handing him his change.

"What?" he asked. "Do tell."

"Well, you coulda said, 'Wanna get waffles?' and winked. Or, 'wanna go to a birthday party?'," I explained. "I mean, I probably wouldn't have gotten what you meant, but y'know..."

I was babbling.

"Wanna...get waffles?" he said, breaking into laughter.

I smiled back, then abruptly frowned.

Thinking, did I really want to do this? Did I want to feel that again? Take the chance of becoming a druggie?

Then again, Craig did it more often, and he wasn't a stoner at all. He was still regular Craig.

"Pick me up after work," I said. "I'll think about it."

I did. All freakin' night. Pros and cons, cons and pros, weighing out options in my head.

On one hand, I had homework. And oh, yeah, drugs were _illegal_?

But on the other hand, it was only one time...not counting last weekend. And call me hedonistic... but it felt really good not to feel.

Shit.

I guess I made my decision.

"I love this song," I said. "Love it."

We had parked the truck near a local park, far enough away from town that we ran a low risk of being spotted by the police. The stereo was turned down low enough for us to hear each other talk, and I couldn't remember the name of the song playing, but I _loved _it.

"How can you like a song you can't even understand the lyrics to?" Craig said, his seat reclined, a joint held loosely between his fingers.

"You're gonna drop that," I said, kneeling backward on the seat.

He regarded the smoking tip with curiosity.

"Besides," I said, sticking my tongue out. "I know this song. Like, all of it. I just don't remember it right now."

He laughed at me, actually laughed. Jerk.

"Shut up," I said, spinning around and slouching straight forward in the seat.

"Heyyy," he drew out. "Chill, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Whatever," I said, still starign straight ahead. The headlights made awesome shadows across the trees.

"Here," he said, passing me the joint. "Calm down, okay? Really, I was just laughing cos you were being cute."

I practically choked. "Me? Cute? Uh-uh, no, I don't do cute. I'm not the cute one. Paiiige is cute. I'm a vampire. Grrr!"

I made claws out of my hands, almost dropping the joint, and bared my fangs, er, my teeth, at him, trying to look scary.

He burst out laughing, and I had to join him. Yeah, scary, really. I am such a dork.

I couldn't stop laughing after that.

Everytime we started to calm down, one of us would start sniggering, and then that set us off all over again.

Once we'd finished the damn joint, I threw open my door, and stumbled out onto the damp grass. I'm pretty sure I skinned my knees, but I didn't care, didn't feel it. It was too hot in the truck, too smoky and sweet, too suffocating.

Craig dropped to the ground on the other side, and I could see his sneakers in the grass in front of me as I giggled. He offered me a hand as a Brand New song filtered through his speakers.

I let him pull me to my feet, and started doing some kind of dance along to the music. I had to stop after a minute, because he was laughing so hard he made _me_ laugh, and I couldn't breathe again.

"Dance with me, Ellie!" he shouted, grabbing me by the wrists and spinning me around and around and around.

It hurt, where he grabbed me, but he didn't mean it, I knew that.

I was dizzy, feeling like I wanted to throw up, by the time he stopped spinning and let me go. By then I was so out of it that I crashed right back to the grass, and the next thing I knew he had fallen next to me.

"I'm gonna hurl," I said as he crawled next to me.

"You can't," he told me, trying to sit up.

"Why not?" I groaned, my vision swimming.

"Because I think I'm gonna kiss you," he said, "and I can't do that if you're gonna throw up."

Throw up, no. But I shut up, looking at him, quiet.

Kiss me? He couldn't kiss me. Friends didn't make out. Besides, he was stoned out of his mind, he wasn't_ in_ his right mind, that meant that he didn't know what he was doing and if he didn't know what he was doing and I didn't know what I was doing, then _neither_ of us knew what -

All thoughts stopped when his lips crashed into mine. He kissed me hungrily, and after the initial shock, I found myself kissing him back. His hands were on my back, in my hair. I held my hands down at my sides, not sure where to put them, not wanting to seem stupid. It was nothing like kissing Sean.

Shit.

Sean -

He pulled away suddenly, looking at me with this intensity that made me shiver.

He tugged on the end of my shirt. Tugged on the waistband of my jeans. Tugged at his collar. Fidgeted.

"Why do you wear those?" he asked, suddenly.

I looked down. I had discarded my jacket in the cab of the truck, not even noticing the night air on my mostly bare arms.

"I -,"

"Punk rock, right?" he said. "You're so punk rock, El. You're so fucking...cool."

He sounded sincere, if not confused, but the next thing I knew, his hand was tugging on my arm warmer.

"You don't need these to be cool," he said, rushed. "It's not about looks, right? It's about mentality."

My mentality had suddenly overcome it's inebriation, and was screaming at me to make him stop, make him stop, MAKE HIM STOP!

But my arm didn't move as fast, and by the time I reached for him, my arm warmer was laying in the wet grass, and he was staring down.

"Fuck."

I shrunk backward, pulling my arm to my chest.

"_Fuck_, Ellie!" he said, eyes wide.

He scooched backwards, then stood up, towering so far over me.

"FUCK!" he yelled, for the entire park to hear.

I scooted myself backwards, into the shadow of the truck, sitting against the wheel, holding myself.

My mantra, too, was 'fuck', held inside my mind, repeated over and over, louder and louder.

After a moment, Craig came over and kicked the tire, jolting me.

"What the fuck, Ellie? What the fuck? Did you want to ruin my entire night? I was feelin' good! You were feeling good! We fucking...what the _fuck_!"

I flinched.

"Shit," he said, more quietly this time.

He sank to his knees.

"Ellie...why?" he asked, his voice showing none of the hostility I'd witnessed only seconds before. "I'm sorry I yelled. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Just tell me why? Please?"

"I..." I'm a horrible person, that's what.

His face was etched with worry, compassion, but that meant fuck all. I've seen "compassion" before, and that's not enough.

I shrugged finally, looking off to the side as if I didn't care.

And so the apathetic shield came back down to protect poor, fucked up Ellie.

Jesus, I suck.

Craig was right, I ruined the night. For both of us.

"Get in the car," he said.

I almost told him it wasn't a car, it was a truck, and wondered just what the fuck I was thinking. I giggled softly, covering it up with my hand, not wanting to make him mad again.

Instead I got into the _truck_ with him, cringed when he turned the music up too loud to hear anything but the screaming of another band.

We left my arm warmer lying forgotten in the wet grass.

Oh, well.

I have more.


	7. Down

Self hatred always sounds so childish. You'll never get a sympathetic ear telling the world you hate your worthless self. You'll get sneers and people will call you a Drama Queen. Stop being so childish, get over yourself, your life's not that bad.

No, because a hundreds of people in the world have it hundreds of times worse. Poor people, sick people, people who have lost their loved ones. Those starving kids in Africa they always show with flies crawling over their bloated stomachs. Gross, and sad, and so much worse off than me.

Does this make me stop feeling sorry for myself, and get off my ass to donate 40 cents a day?

No.

It only makes me feel like more of a loser as I sit in my empty apartment, listening to soft music and feeling sorry for myself even _more_.

God I am such a pathetic loser.

I settled for playing Dashboard Confessional, on low enough not to wake up anyone else at three in the morning, but loud enough that I could hear it no matter where I went. Like that says much; it's not a big apartment.

I cleaned out the fridge. I cleaned out the cupboards. I did all the dishes, wiped down the counters, cleaned my bedroom, and went anal enough to stack my magazines on the coffee table - in alphabetical order. To match the DVD's on the stand, of course.

Lame, lame, lame.

But it was all I could do to keep my mind of the tingle in my arm, the ache, the want, the utter need.

I know a lot of people think cutters are attention whores. Not many people realize how much of an addiction it is. How it becomes necessary. How it's the first thing you crave when things go wrong, when you're sad or lonely, or mad, and how ignoring it doesn't make it go away. Only makes it stronger.

How it can become incapacitating.

How it's all you can do not to find something. Anything will do. And if you take that away, we will find something else. Our own nails, teeth.

It's scary just how much I need this.

I tried to be strong, cleaning the house and organizing everything, but did that really help? No, of course not, because, let's say it all together now!

I SUCK.

There's so much around the house that would be so easy. Knives in the kitchen, razors in the bathroom, the edge of the coffee table if I brought my wrist down hard.

See?

Pathetic.

I couldn't help but think, if I had some of Craig's weed, I wouldn't need to tear myself open.

Of course, all that did was make me think of him. How mad he got, and how he saw that... god.

That as it.

I stood up and walked into the kitchen.

Like it even mattered.

The only people who cared were gone...

That's how I ended up standing by the fridge, bare feet on cool linoleum, hand on the phone, ring on the line.

Bad, bad, bad Ellie. Stop now!

I never listen to myself.

"Hello?"

My heart leapt, breath frozen in my chest.

He was out of breath, like he'd been running, or laughing really hard, and I heard music and laughter behind him. A party.

A mistake to call.

"Hello?" he said again, more persistently.

"Who is it, babe?" a woman said.

"Wrong number, I guess," Sean's voice said, and the phone clicked down, ringing in my ear.

It was a blind fury, a frenzy, a million things at once, and somehow they all flow into one memory, of me standing at the sink with a paring knife in hand, blood dripping slowly into the sink, splashing red on silver, washing away in the cool rush from the faucet.

Tears fell down my face, and I hated myself more for crying.

Big girls don't cry.

They don't cry.

They get even.

His name was James, and I barely knew him.

It wasn't hard to find a party, when I really tried. I remembered John, and took a stroll by his house, hoping against hope, and sure enough, there was a party raging on. People inside were drunk or high, dancing or kissing, laughing and talking.

It wasn't hard to find a boy.

I snagged a semi-cute brunette and pulled him into the shadows.

I had to lean up to whisper in his ear.

Apparently he liked what I had to say, because he lead me upstairs to this dark room, and shut the door behind him, the click of the latch echoing with finality.

It wasn't at all how I had pictured it. Dreamed it like all girls do.

I didn't want to lose my virginity in someone else's house, with someone I didn't know.

But that was the only way I knew how to get back at Sean.

And until I was beneath this sweating, grunting body, twisted in the sheets of a bed that belonged to someone I had never met, I didn't realize that this wouldn't hurt Sean.

Maybe when he found out, and even then it was a long shot. If he had moved on, he had moved on, and this was nothing. Not to mention the only way he'd find out, was if I called back to Wasaga Beach and blatantly spelled it out for him.

So I shut my eyes and pretended it wasn;t happening, but everything was happening so fast, too fast, such a rushed pace I couldn't seem to follow the events.

There was no foreplay.

There was a kiss that tasted of alcohol and cigarettes.

There were hands roughly pawing at my chest as he pushed my skirt around my waise. There was pain as he pushed himself inside me without warning.

There was only a loss of innocence I should have stopped.

But I only laid back and let it happen.

Take that, Sean.

Take it, please.

And when he came, he fell against my chest, heavy, dead weight that made it hard to breathe.

I could see the shadows on the wall, painting out a picture I could have made so beautiful, if I were only writing this about another girl.

On my way out, I spotted John. I knew he recognized me from the nod he gave. And when I asked him if he had anything he could give me, he smiled and led me to his room.

"What exactly are you looking for?" he asked.

"I want something..." I paused. "I want something that will make me numb."

He stared at me for a moment.

"Your skirt's crooked," he said without emotion, turning to a drawer in his dresser.

"Craig would kill me if I gave some of this shit to you," he sounded a bit wary.

"Somehow I doubt that," I muttered, kicking at the floor with my boots.

"Here," he said, passing me a baggie.

"What is it?" I asked, staring at the contents.

"More potent stuff," he said. "First one's on the house. This is all I can give you without him kicking my ass, or getting you into the big leagues, okay? So take it, and if you want more, ask Craig for my number."

I looked at the baggie, back at him. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me, kid," he spat. "Get outta here before I change my mind, okay?"

I got.


End file.
